"What is this you have been doing, Imogene?"
A flush, such as glints across the face of a marble statue, visited for a moment the still whiteness of her set features, then she replied:
"Mr. Orcutt, when I left your house I told you I had a wretched and unhappy duty to perform, that, when once accomplished, would separate us forever. I have done it, and the separation has come; why attempt to bridge it?"
There was a sad weariness in her tone, a sad weariness in her face, but he seemed to recognize neither. The demon jealousy – that hindrance to all unselfish feeling – had gripped him again, and the words that came to his lips were at once bitter and masterful.
"Imogene," he cried, with as much wrath in his tone as he had ever betrayed in her presence, "you do not answer my question. I ask you what you have been doing, and you reply, your duty. Now, what do you mean by duty? Tell me at once and distinctly, for I will no longer be put off by any roundabout phrases concerning a matter of such vital importance."
"Tell you?" This repetition of his words had a world of secret anguish in it which he could not help but notice. She did not succumb to it, however, but continued in another moment: "You said to me, in the last conversation we held together, that Gouverneur Hildreth could not be released from his terrible position without a distinct proof of innocence or the advancement of such evidence against another as should turn suspicion aside from him into a new and more justifiable quarter. I could not, any more than he, give a distinct proof of his innocence; but I could furnish the authorities with testimony calculated to arouse suspicion in a fresh direction, and I did it. For Gouverneur Hildreth had to be saved at any price —at any price."
The despairing emphasis she laid upon the last phrase went like hot steel to Mr. Orcutt's heart, and made his eyes blaze with almost uncontrollable passion.
"Je ne vois pas la necessité," said he, in that low, restrained tone of bitter sarcasm which made his invective so dreaded by opposing counsel. "If Gouverneur Hildreth finds himself in an unfortunate position, he has only his own follies and inordinate desire for this woman's death to thank for it. Because you love him and compassionate him beyond all measure, that is no reason why you should perjure yourself, and throw the burden of his shame upon a man as innocent as Mr. Mansell."
But this tone, though it had made many a witness quail before it, neither awed nor intimidated her.
"You – you do not understand," came from her white lips. "It is Mr. Hildreth who is perfectly innocent, and not – " But here she paused. "You will excuse me from saying more," she said. "You, as a lawyer, ought to know that I should not be compelled to speak on a subject like this except under oath."
"Imogene!" A change had passed over Mr. Orcutt. "Imogene, do you mean to affirm that you really have charges to make against Craik Mansell; that this evidence you propose to give is real, and not manufactured for the purpose of leading suspicion aside from Hildreth?"
It was an insinuation against her veracity he never could have made, or she have listened to, a few weeks before; but the shield of her pride was broken between them, and neither he nor she seemed to give any thought to the reproach conveyed in these words.
"What I have to say is the truth," she murmured. "I have not manufactured any thing."
With an astonishment he took no pains to conceal, Mr. Orcutt anxiously surveyed her. He could not believe this was so, yet how could he convict her of falsehood in face of that suffering expression of resolve which she wore. His methods as a lawyer came to his relief.
"Imogene," he slowly responded, "if, as you say, you are in possession of positive evidence against this Mansell, how comes it that you jeopardized the interests of the man you loved by so long withholding your testimony?"
But instead of the flush of confusion which he expected, she flashed upon him with a sudden revelation of feeling that made him involuntarily start.
"Shall I tell you?" she replied. "You will have to know some time, and why not now? I kept back the truth," she replied, advancing a step, but without raising her eyes to his, "because it is not the aspersed Hildreth that I love, but – "
Why did she pause? What was it she found so hard to speak? Mr. Orcutt's expression became terrible.
"But the other," she murmured at last.
"The other!"
It was now her turn to start and look at him in surprise, if not in some fear.
"What other?" he cried, seizing her by the hand. "Name him. I will have no further misunderstanding between us."
"Is it necessary?" she asked, with bitterness. "Will Heaven spare me nothing?" Then, as she saw no relenting in the fixed gaze that held her own, whispered, in a hollow tone: "You have just spoken the name yourself – Craik Mansell."
"Ah!"
Incredulity, anger, perplexity, all the emotions that were seething in this man's troubled soul, spoke in that simple exclamation. Then silence settled upon the room, during which she gained control over herself, and he the semblance of it if no more. She was the first to speak.
"I know," said she, "that this avowal on my part seems almost incredible to you; but it is no more so than that which you so readily received from me the other day in reference to Gouverneur Hildreth. A woman who spends a month away from home makes acquaintances which she does not always mention when she comes back. I saw Mr. Mansell in Buffalo, and – " turning, she confronted the lawyer with her large gray eyes, in which a fire burned such as he had never seen there before – "and grew to esteem him," she went on. "For the first time in my life I found myself in the presence of a man whose nature commanded mine. His ambition, his determination, his unconventional and forcible character woke aspirations within me such as I had never known myself capable of before. Life, which had stretched out before me with a somewhat monotonous outlook, changed to a panorama of varied and wonderful experiences, as I listened to his voice and met the glance of his eye; and soon, before he knew it, and certainly before I realized it, words of love passed between us, and the agony of that struggle began which has ended – Ah, let me not think how, or I shall go mad!"
Mr. Orcutt, who had watched her with a lover's fascination during all this attempted explanation, shivered for a moment at this last bitter cry of love and despair, but spoke up when he did speak, with a coldness that verged on severity.
"So you loved another man when you came back to my home and listened to the words of passion which came from my lips, and the hopes of future bliss and happiness that welled up from my heart?"
"Yes," she whispered, "and, as you will remember, I tried to suppress those hopes and turn a deaf ear to those words, though I had but little prospect of marrying a man whose fortunes depended upon the success of an invention he could persuade no one to believe in."
"Yet you brought yourself to listen to those hopes on the afternoon of the murder," he suggested, ironically.
"Can you blame me for that?" she cried, "remembering how you pleaded, and what a revulsion of feeling I was laboring under?"
A smile bitter as the fate which loomed before him, and scornful as the feelings that secretly agitated his breast, parted Mr. Orcutt's pale lips for an instant, and he seemed about to give utterance to some passionate rejoinder, but he subdued himself with a determined effort, and quietly waiting till his voice was under full control, remarked with lawyer-like brevity at last:
"You have not told me what evidence you have to give against young Mansell?"
Her answer came with equal brevity if not equal quietness.
"No; I have told Mr. Ferris; is not that enough?"
But he did not consider it so. "Ferris is a District Attorney," said he, "and has demanded your confidence for the purposes of justice, while I am your friend. The action you have taken is peculiar, and you may need advice. But how can I give it or how can you receive it unless there is a complete understanding between us?"
Struck in spite of herself, moved perhaps by a hope she had not allowed herself to contemplate before, she looked at him long and earnestly.
"And do you really wish to help me?" she inquired. "Are you so generous as to forgive the pain, and possibly the humiliation, I have inflicted upon you, and lend me your assistance in case my testimony works its due effect, and he be brought to trial instead of Mr. Hildreth?"
It was a searching and a pregnant question, for which Mr. Orcutt was possibly not fully prepared, but his newly gained control did not give way.
"I must insist upon hearing the facts before I say any thing of my intentions," he averred. "Whatever they may be, they cannot be more startling in their character than those which have been urged against Hildreth."
"But they are," she whispered. Then with a quick look around her, she put her mouth close to Mr. Orcutt's ear and breathed:
"Mr. Hildreth is not the only man who, unseen by the neighbors, visited Mrs. Clemmens' house on the morning of the murder. Craik Mansell was there also."
"Craik Mansell! How do you know that? Ah," he pursued, with the scornful intonation of a jealous man, "I forgot that you are lovers."
The sneer, natural as it was, perhaps, seemed to go to her heart and wake its fiercest indignation.
"Hush," cried she, towering upon him with an ominous flash of her proud eye. "Do not turn the knife in that wound or you will seal my lips forever." And she moved hastily away from his side. But in another instant she determinedly returned, saying: "This is no time for indulging in one's sensibilities. I affirm that Craik Mansell visited his aunt on that day, because the ring which was picked up on the floor of her dining-room – you remember the ring, Mr. Orcutt?"
Remember it! Did he not? All his many perplexities in its regard crowded upon him as he made a hurried bow of acquiescence.
"It belonged to him," she continued. "He had bought it for me, or, rather, had had the diamond reset for me – it had been his mother's. Only the day before, he had tried to put it on my finger in a meeting we had in the woods back of his aunt's house. But I refused to allow him. The prospect ahead was too dismal and unrelenting for us to betroth ourselves, whatever our hopes or wishes might be."
"You – you had a meeting with this man in the woods the day before his aunt was assaulted," echoed Mr. Orcutt, turning upon her with an amazement that swallowed up his wrath.
"Yes."
"And he afterward visited her house?"
"Yes."
"And dropped that ring there?"
"Yes."
Starting slowly, as if the thoughts roused by this short statement of facts were such as demanded instant consideration, Mr. Orcutt walked to the other side of the room, where he paced up and down in silence for some minutes. When he returned it was the lawyer instead of the lover who stood before her.
"Then, it was the simple fact of finding this gentleman's ring on the floor of Mrs. Clemmens' dining-room that makes you consider him the murderer of his aunt?" he asked, with a tinge of something like irony in his tone.
"No," she breathed rather than answered. "That was a proof, of course, that he had been there, but I should never have thought of it as an evidence of guilt if the woman herself had not uttered, in our hearing that tell-tale exclamation of 'Ring and Hand,' and if, in the talk I held with Mr. Mansell the day before, he had not betrayed – Why do you stop me?" she whispered.
"I did not stop you," he hastily assured her. "I am too anxious to hear what you have to say. Go on, Imogene. What did this Mansell betray? I – I ask as a father might," he added, with some dignity and no little effort.
But her fears had taken alarm, or her caution been aroused, and she merely said:
"The five thousand dollars which his aunt leaves him is just the amount he desired to start him in life."
"Did he wish such an amount?" Mr. Orcutt asked.
"Very much."
"And acknowledged it in the conversation he had with you?"
"Yes."
"Imogene," declared the lawyer, "if you do not want to insure Mr. Mansell's indictment, I would suggest to you not to lay too great stress upon any talk you may have held with him."
But she cried with unmoved sternness, and a relentless crushing down of all emotion that was at once amazing and painful to see:
"The innocent is to be saved from the gallows, no matter what the fate of the guilty may be."
And a short but agitated silence followed which Mr. Orcutt broke at last by saying:
"Are these all the facts you have to give me?"
She started, cast him a quick look, bowed her head, and replied:
"Yes."
There was something in the tone of this assertion that made him repeat his question.
"Are these all the facts you have to give me?"
Her answer came ringing and emphatic now.
"Yes," she avowed – "all."
With a look of relief, slowly smoothing out the deep furrows of his brow, Mr. Orcutt, for the second time, walked thoughtfully away in evident consultation with his own thoughts. This time he was gone so long, the suspense became almost intolerable to Imogene. Feeling that she could endure it no longer, she followed him at last, and laid her hand upon his arm.
"Speak," she impetuously cried. "Tell me what you think; what I have to expect."
But he shook his head.
"Wait," he returned; "wait till the Grand Jury has brought in a bill of indictment. It will, doubtless, be against one of these two men; but I must know which, before I can say or do any thing."
"And do you think there can be any doubt about which of these two it will be?" she inquired, with sudden emotion.
"There is always doubt," he rejoined, "about any thing or every thing a body of men may do. This is a very remarkable case, Imogene," he resumed, with increased sombreness; "the most remarkable one, perhaps, that has ever come under my observation. What the Grand Jury will think of it; upon which party, Mansell or Hildreth, the weight of their suspicion will fall, neither I nor Ferris, nor any other man, can prophesy with any assurance. The evidence against both is, in so far as we know, entirely circumstantial. That you believe Mr. Mansell to be the guilty party – "
"Believe!" she murmured; "I know it."
"That you believe him to be the guilty party," the wary lawyer pursued, as if he had not heard her "does not imply that they will believe it too. Hildreth comes of a bad stock, and his late attempt at suicide tells wonderfully against him; yet, the facts you have to give in Mansell's disfavor are strong also, and Heaven only knows what the upshot will be. However, a few weeks will determine all that, and then – " Pausing, he looked at her, and, as he did so, the austerity and self-command of the lawyer vanished out of sight, and the passionate gleam of a fierce and overmastering love shone again in his eyes. "And then," he cried, "then we will see what Tremont Orcutt can do to bring order out of this chaos."
There was so much resolve in his look, such a hint of promise in his tone, that she flushed with something almost akin to hope.
"Oh, generous – " she began.
But he stopped her before she could say more.
"Wait," he repeated; "wait till we see what action will be taken by the Grand Jury." And taking her hand, he looked earnestly, if not passionately, in her face. "Imogene," he commenced, "if I should succeed – " But there he himself stopped short with a quick recalling of his own words, perhaps. "No," he cried, "I will say no more till we see which of these two men is to be brought to trial." And, pressing her hand to his lips, he gave her one last look in which was concentrated all the secret passions which had been called forth by this hour, and hastily left the room.
XXIV.
A TRUE BILL
Come to me, friend or foe,
And tell me who is victor, York or Warwick. – Henry VI.
THE town of Sibley was in a state of excitement. About the court-house especially the crowd was great and the interest manifested intense. The Grand Jury was in session, and the case of the Widow Clemmens was before it.
As all the proceedings of this body are private, the suspense of those interested in the issue was naturally very great. The name of the man lastly suspected of the crime had transpired, and both Hildreth and Mansell had their partisans, though the mystery surrounding the latter made his friends less forward in asserting his innocence than those of the more thoroughly understood Hildreth. Indeed, the ignorance felt on all sides as to the express reasons for associating the name of Mrs. Clemmens' nephew with his aunt's murder added much to the significance of the hour. Conjectures were plenty and the wonder great, but the causes why this man, or any other, should lie under a suspicion equal to that raised against Hildreth at the inquest was a mystery that none could solve.
But what is the curiosity of the rabble to us? Our interest is in a little room far removed from this scene of excitement, where the young daughter of Professor Darling kneels by the side of Imogene Dare, striving by caress and entreaty to win a word from her lips or a glance from her heavy eyes.
"Imogene," she pleaded, – "Imogene, what is this terrible grief? Why did you have to go to the court-house this morning with papa, and why have you been almost dead with terror and misery ever since you got back? Tell me, or I shall perish of mere fright. For weeks now, ever since you were so good as to help me with my wedding-clothes, I have seen that something dreadful was weighing upon your mind, but this which you are suffering now is awful; this I cannot bear. Cannot you speak dear? Words will do you good."
"Words!"
Oh, the despair, the bitterness of that single exclamation! Miss Darling drew back in dismay. As if released, Imogene rose to her feet and surveyed the sweet and ingenuous countenance uplifted to her own, with a look of faint recognition of the womanly sympathy it conveyed.
"Helen," she resumed, "you are happy. Don't stay here with me, but go where there are cheerfulness and hope."
"But I cannot while you suffer so. I love you, Imogene. Would you drive me away from your side when you are so unhappy? You don't care for me as I do for you or you could not do it."
"Helen!" The deep tone made the sympathetic little bride-elect quiver. "Helen, some griefs are best borne alone. Only a few hours now and I shall know the worst. Leave me."
But the gentle little creature was not to be driven away. She only clung the closer and pleaded the more earnestly:
"Tell me, tell me!"
The reiteration of this request was too much for the pallid woman before her. Laying her two hands on the shoulders of this child, she drew back and looked her earnestly in the face.
"Helen," she cried, "what do you know of earthly anguish? A petted child, the favorite of happy fortune, you have been kept from evil as from a blight. None of the annoyances of life have been allowed to enter your path, much less its griefs and sins. Terror with you is but a name, remorse an unknown sensation. Even your love has no depths in it such as suffering gives. Yet, since you do love, and love well, perhaps you can understand something of what a human soul can endure who sees its only hope and only love tottering above a gulf too horrible for words to describe – a gulf, too, which her own hand – But no, I cannot tell you. I overrated my strength. I – "
She sank back, but the next moment started again to her feet: a servant had opened the door.
"What is it!" she exclaimed; "speak, tell me."
"Only a gentleman to see you, miss."
"Only a – " But she stopped in that vain repetition of the girl's simple words, and looked at her as if she would force from her lips the name she had not the courage to demand; but, failing to obtain it, turned away to the glass, where she quietly smoothed her hair and adjusted the lace at her throat, and then catching sight of the tear-stained face of Helen, stooped and gave her a kiss, after which she moved mechanically to the door and went down those broad flights, one after one, till she came to the parlor, when she went in and encountered – Mr. Orcutt.
A glance at his face told her all she wanted to know.
"Ah!" she gasped, "it is then – "
"Mansell!"
It was five minutes later. Imogene leaned against the window where she had withdrawn herself at the utterance of that one word. Mr. Orcutt stood a couple of paces behind her.
"Imogene," said he, "there is a question I would like to have you answer."
The feverish agitation expressed in his tone made her look around.
"Put it," she mechanically replied.
But he did not find it easy to do this, while her eyes rested upon him in such despair. He felt, however, that the doubt in his mind must be satisfied at all hazards; so choking down an emotion that was almost as boundless as her own, he ventured to ask:
"Is it among the possibilities that you could ever again contemplate giving yourself in marriage to Craik Mansell, no matter what the issue of the coming trial may be?"
A shudder quick and powerful as that which follows the withdrawal of a dart from an agonizing wound shook her whole frame for a moment, but she answered, steadily:
"No; how can you ask, Mr. Orcutt?"
A gleam of relief shot across his somewhat haggard features.
"Then," said he, "it will be no treason in me to assure you that never has my love been greater for you than to-day. That to save you from the pain which you are suffering, I would sacrifice every thing, even my pride. If, therefore, there is any kindness I can show you, any deed I can perform for your sake, I am ready to attempt it, Imogene.
"Would you – " she hesitated, but gathered courage as she met his eye – "would you be willing to go to him with a message from me?"
His glance fell and his lips took a line that startled Imogene, but his answer, though given with bitterness was encouraging.
"Yes," he returned; "even that."
"Then," she cried, "tell him that to save the innocent, I had to betray the guilty, but in doing this I did not spare myself; that whatever his doom may be, I shall share it, even though it be that of death."
"Imogene!"
"Will you tell him?" she asked.
But he would not have been a man, much less a lover, if he could answer that question now. Seizing her by the arm, he looked her wildly in the face.
"Do you mean to kill yourself?" he demanded.
"I feel I shall not live," she gasped, while her hand went involuntarily to her heart.
He gazed at her in horror.
"And if he is cleared?" he hoarsely ejaculated.
"I – I shall try to endure my fate."
He gave her another long, long look.
"So this is the alternative you give me?" he bitterly exclaimed. "I must either save this man or see you perish. Well," he declared, after a few minutes' further contemplation of her face, "I will save this man – that is, if he will allow me to do so."
A flash of joy such as he had not perceived on her countenance for weeks transformed its marble-like severity into something of its pristine beauty.
"And you will take him my message also?" she cried.
But to this he shook his head.
"If I am to approach him as a lawyer willing to undertake his cause, don't you see I can give him no such message as that?"
"Ah, yes, yes. But you can tell him Imogene Dare has risked her own life and happiness to save the innocent."
"I will tell him whatever I can to show your pity and your misery."
And she had to content herself with this. In the light of the new hope that was thus unexpectedly held out to her, it did not seem so difficult. Giving Mr. Orcutt her hand, she endeavored to thank him, but the reaction from her long suspense was too much, and, for the first time in her brave young life, Imogene lost consciousness and fainted quite away.